


Heavy

by Ceebee



Series: prompt fills for Camelot_drabble [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, a wee bit angsty, now with final chapter yay!, wannabe husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceebee/pseuds/Ceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe you’ll be king someday, Merlin,” he’d said, and Merlin had looked up just in time to see the stiffness in the lines around his mouth, before it was gone, to be replaced by his usual teasing expression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Crown' at Camelot_Drabble

Merlin dragged himself around Arthur’s chambers, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep the night before. He wondered when exactly he was  _supposed_ to catch a little shuteye when Arthur was so busy being King and, consequently, Merlin was run off his feet being manservant.

He knuckled his eyes and smacked his lips absentmindedly, as he unceremoniously pulled the duvet from Arthur’s four-poster, using his magic to make it fly across the room and join the little heap by the door of other sheets and odd items of clothing, which he had discovered scattered about the floor.

Although he’d never admit it, there was something vaguely therapeutic about tidying, with half his mind filled with a hazy golden glow as his magic was allowed a bit of freedom, causing the mop to skate around by itself and a cloth to run over the windows till they were squeaky. While all this was going on, Merlin tottered here and there, scooping up odd little trinkets from under the bed and sorting through drawers, to make sure everything was in its proper place.

He smiled fondly to himself as he recalled a few nights ago when Arthur had come back to his chambers, exhausted after a day of training with the knights and long, arduous meetings, only to drop a kiss to Merlin’s forehead, and compliment him (if a little sarcastically) on the way he’d arranged all of his keys, so it looked like they were having a battle on the mantelpiece. Merlin had beamed because it had actually taken a rather long time to make them stand upright like that without magic (okay, maybe a  _tiny_ bit of magic had been involved...)

Now, Merlin was leaning against one of the walls, eyes heavy lidded and slowly sliding shut, when he spotted something, glinting on top of the wardrobe. He hesitated a moment, and then pushed himself forwards with a grunt, expression melting to the amber of sorcery. After a moment the crown rose and then span gracefully towards him.

He caught it, long white fingers curling around the heavy metal. Arthur only really wore it on special occasions because its weight made it almost unbearably uncomfortable to wear. Sometimes he’d ask Merlin to polish it for him, and the manservant liked to think that he was wiping away some of the burdens, which settled darkly over his King’s neck and shoulders.

Merlin turned it gently in his hands, and could feel his skin being bathed in its colour, from where the light hit it and then reflected in a pool on his face. Arthur had mentioned once, a long time ago... a comment in passing that had nonetheless imprinted itself on Merlin’s very heart.

“Maybe  _you’ll_ be king someday, Merlin,” he’d said, and Merlin had looked up just in time to see the stiffness in the lines around his mouth, before it was gone, to be replaced by his usual teasing expression.

Merlin had stuck out his tongue, or maybe rolled his eyes, but the words never left him. Because maybe, one day, it _would_  be him by Arthur’s side, with a similar circlet decorating his pale forehead.

There was a second, then, where Merlin couldn’t breathe; when everything was catching in his throat: the desire, the hope, the irrevocable  _love_  that he had for Arthur, the thought of which could be triggered by something as simple as cleaning his bedroom.

Trembling, he turned to the body length mirror in the corner of the room, and lifted the crown till it was settled on his head. There in the glass stood a man, but Merlin felt more like a child dressing up. He breathed out, and pressed his hands tiredly over his face.

“Merlin?” A voice he recognised sounded from across the room, and Merlin span around, eyes wide and blue. Around him the mop and cloth dropped to the floor, with corresponding clatters and splashes.

Arthur barely seemed to notice, his eyes trained on Merlin’s face, raking over the tired shadows on his skin, and the weighted gold in his hair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take a breath for me, Merlin,” Arthur instructed, heat breaking a little as he watched Merlin struggle to follow the order, trying to breathe evenly, “take a breath, and tell me what it was I said.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter for a different prompt ('family'). It was quite a long time ago, and I probably should have uploaded then, but I probably just got distracted by something xD I thought I should just go ahead and post it now.

Arthur walked inside and shut the door carefully behind him, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s face. For his part, Merlin had gone very pink, blushing softly from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. He wouldn’t look at Arthur, his gaze instead directed at his own shoes.

The King raised an eyebrow as he moved closer to his manservant, whose distress became more apparent with every step: beneath the crown Merlin trembled, the corner of his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth like it always was when he was upset. He wore the expression of a little boy who had been caught with his hand buried in the sweet jar.

Except Merlin wasn’t a boy, even if he was skinny and clumsy, and could make his eyes wide like a puppy when he was confused or wanted something. Merlin wasn’t a boy, and it wasn’t sweets he was reaching for.

“If anyone else had walked through that door, you’d already be on your way to the dungeons.” Arthur was looking pointedly towards where the mop and bucket had fallen, and was referring to the magic which he could almost taste, still mingling in the air.

“I shouldn’t have to hide.” The ‘anymore’ went unspoken, and hovered between them. Arthur had been crowned King a little over a year ago and it had been a few months later that he found out about the magic and yet...nothing had changed.

“You know it’s complicated,” Arthur didn’t sound annoyed or angry, only weary: they’d had this conversation many times before and usually this would be the moment Merlin argued back, but now all that happened was his shoulders slumping forwards and his head hanging.

Arthur was right before him in a second, hands on his thin upper arms, forcing him to uncurl and then feeling his chest constrict slightly when the crown atop the young man’s head slipped slightly in those dark curls.

“Why?” He murmured, reaching up to gently tap at the band of gold. Merlin’s face went impossibly redder and suddenly he was stumbling, tripping over his words.

“You said...I want...I don’t—” Arthur’s hand dropped to cup Merlin’s face firmly, a thumb rubbing over his cheekbones and the dark skin beneath his eyes. On the edge of his black lashed were clinging tears, gathering and gathering, until Arthur brushed them away before they could fall.

He had only seen Merlin distressed like this on a very few occasions, the most memorable of which had been when he found out about the magic. How did someone forget the terror of watching the person they love stop breathing? It was happening again now—Merlin’s chest rose and fell rapidly, hands balled at his sides.

“Take breath for me, Merlin,” Arthur instructed, heart breaking a little as he watched Merlin struggle to follow the order; trying to breathe evenly. “Take a breath, and tell me what it was I said.”

Merlin was ever so slightly taller than Arthur, and it took the King’s touch to the back of his neck to make him lean forwards and allow the older man to press a kiss to his forehead, comforting and encouraging.

“You said,” Merlin whispered, “maybe I’d be king someday...with you,” and his gaze flew upwards to catch Arthur’s startled expression, before he hurried on, “I’m not saying I want that! I’m not asking for that, I just...you know what I am, now. You know what I can do. But you’ve ignored it, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what you want from me and I—” he pressed a hand over his mouth, and sighed into his own fingers. Arthur only stared, feeling a little breathless himself.

“Arthur,” Merlin tried again, voice ever so slightly steadier, “two months ago, you let me fuck you.” They hadn’t spoken about it afterwards, and Merlin was so blunt it was like a punch to the gut.

They hadn’t spoken about it, but Arthur could recall every detail: the burning shame he had felt before, and then the pleasure of knowing that Merlin was finally, truly, a part of him. Inside him. There had been devotion painted over every movement and every touch.

“How does that work?” the more-than-a-manservant asked, softly. “Where do I fit in? I know I’m not just the servant everyone else thinks I am. I’m more than the boy you fought with when I first arrived. But I also know I’m not a king,” and he pulled the crown from his head, “so what am I?”

Arthur gently prised the crown from Merlin’s grip, and set it aside. There was a moment of silence, and then he pulled the man to him, hands locked around porcelain hipbones.

“You’re mine,” he told him, running his fingers up and down Merlin’s sides, “and you are invaluable to me. Your magic is invaluable to me. Everything you are—” he broke off, looking away. There weren’t enough words to explain to Merlin how the reason he hadn’t been knighted or named court sorcerer, or even had a bloody coronation (because with his bravery, gifts and love, God knew he deserved it all) was because none of them were good enough.

Then, Merlin leaned forwards, and pressed his lips to Arthur’s, pulling away again before it could get any rougher.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I was being stupid.”

“No,” Arthur disagreed firmly, “no you weren’t.”

Outside the night was dusty and dark, the great city like a babe in a young King’s arms. In a few years, maybe the burden would be shared by two men, joined by stupid destinies and a pair of silver rings around their fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I may possibly write a sequel for this, depending on next week's prompt... I hope you enjoyed it anyway :')~~
> 
>  
> 
> Well, no need for that any more ^ heheh


End file.
